


love is like a cup of coffee

by yonugho



Category: NCT (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Coffee Shops & Cafés, Alternate Universe - High School, Fluff, Lots of blushing, M/M, Nomin if you squint, Strangers to Lovers, like really hard, rated teen for mild cursing!!, slight slow burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-09
Updated: 2017-11-09
Packaged: 2019-01-27 18:37:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,627
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12588108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yonugho/pseuds/yonugho
Summary: “Oh my God,” Mark finds himself whispering to no one in particular, air effortlessly escaping his lungs as he stares at the boy from across the room.or, in which Mark becomes hopelessly infatuated with the regular at the café.





	love is like a cup of coffee

**Author's Note:**

> hello!! this is my first ever complete fic on this site, and this is unbeta-ed (if i made any mistakes/typos, please let me know), so apologies if the quality isn't good. any feedback is always welcomed and appreciated :)

Mark has grown accustomed to the lasting aroma of brewed caffeine beans for a large portion of his adolescent life; his parents have owned this place for ages and the smell always stuck to his clothes long after his mother flipped the sign to CLOSED for the day. Mark can recognize every nook and cranny in this tiny hideaway — which is no more than a distant speck on the map of Seoul — and could probably tell you who that young man clad with grey sweats and tattered sneakers resting at the table by the door is if you asked: “Him? He’s here every morning for a quick espresso before his early jog. Mr. Lee. He has me call him Taeyong hyung now with how often he comes here.” His outstanding memory is what landed him a job here in the first place (not that his mother wouldn’t have gifted him one anyways).

 

What Mark isn’t used to is the boy currently seated at table twelve.

   
  
This boy disrupted Mark’s entire routine: come straight from school to the café, work until 5pm, head home and do as much homework as he can until he passes out. Maybe fit some casual chatting with the regulars and texting his friends in between. Mark was in the middle of mentally checking off the first step when he saw _him._ A fantasy dressed in jeans and a sweater too big for his hands.

  
  
Mark is usually on top of everything. He’s familiarized himself with almost every face that enters this café _so why has he never seen him before?_

 

“Oh my God,” Mark finds himself whispering to no one in particular, air effortlessly escaping his lungs as he stares at the boy from across the room. Like a thieving gust of hot wind infiltrated his chest and stole his oxygen. He clutches the boy’s order in his now clammy hand, the thought of walking up and placing the cup in front of him terrifying the fuck out of Mark.

 

_What if I got his order wrong? What if this isn’t for table twelve? What if I tripped and spilled this all over him? Fuck, are my shoelaces undone?_

 

Mark internally panics, but he has no time to relish in his nervous state as his feet subconsciously carry him towards table twelve, the ever hardworking server in him switching on autopilot mode.

  
  
“One caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream for table twelve?” He hears himself announce, his voice sounding programmed as it does with every other customer. The boy’s full attention is now on Mark (which was previously directed at the book rested between his arms), and the latter wonders if the beat his heart skips over is due to the extra caffeine doses earlier that morning or the boy’s deep, chocolate eyes gazing up at him. Probably both.

 

The boy’s heart shaped lips — _cupid himself must be giving me a sign,_ Mark thinks — crease upwards in a polite smile and he nods. Mark can’t stop the returning smile from gracing his face as he gently places the coffee in front of the boy.

 

“Thank you.” Mark knows those two words are normal in a setting like this, he’s heard them hundreds of times before, but hearing such a simple sentence from the boy in front of him is a blessing in itself. So much so, Mark quickly sends one more smile before walking back to the counter to rub at the deep red blush settling in his cheeks.

 

And it continues like that; Mark serving the boy his caramel macchiato after school, sitting at the same table, and Mark deciding to gaze and admire from afar, attempting but ultimately failing at mustering up the courage to create a conversation topic other than his automatic server line. But, Mark was able to catch the boy’s name one day: Lee Donghyuck. He can finally put a name to the beautiful face.

 

 

—

 

 

“What are you daydreaming about?”

 

The cafeteria bustles alive, akin to a marketplace, with semi-disorderly students screaming to their friends from across the room and chucking their undercooked lunch at each other’s unsuspecting faces. A typical lunch period at Mark’s school. Thankfully, he and his friends had secured a secluded enough section to eat at.

 

But Mark drowns the high decibel noise out with thoughts plagued by a boy with whipped cream mustaches and sweater paws. He nearly misses the question Jeno asks him, his friend curiously staring at him over his “mystery meat” burger which is definitely still partially raw. Mark almost gags. Jeno would eat anything.

 

  
“No one.” A mischievous glint appears in Jeno’s eyes as he stops chewing, his undivided attention on the older. It dawns on Mark what kind of answer he gave him and he groans. Having one foot in dreamland and one foot out proves to be a dangerous state to be in.

 

  
“Oh, so it’s a _someone?_ Please, enlighten me.” Lunch now forgotten, Jeno elbows his tray to the side to rest his chin atop his palm, and Mark would have found the sight humorous if he wasn’t currently in distress. Sure, it’s been a couple of weeks since he’s acknowledged his, quite obvious, infatuation towards Donghyuck, but voicing this not only out loud but in _public_ is a challenge in itself. Not that Mark’s friends would be opposed to him crushing on another boy — all three of them are bisexual, for Christ’s sake — but they’d tease him with this new information, wearing the poor kid out (that’s mostly Jeno’s behavior, while Renjun interrogates Mark and asks him every question under the sun about his crush like a middle school girl). Reminding himself of his best friend’s antics of prying until a secret is open in the air, regardless of if he confesses or not, Mark sighs and mentally prepares himself for the incessant pestering to come.

 

“So I may or may not have been thinking about this boy at the café and I may or may not like him a little bit.“ Mark spits out all in one breath, content with the perplexed expression scribbled across Jeno’s face as he attempts to decipher what the fuck he just said. He gives up within seconds.

 

“What?”

 

“Mark has a crush on a boy at the café.” Mark whips his head at the boy seated next to him with wild eyes, slapping a hand over his mouth because Renjun said that _way too fucking loud_ and Mark could have sworn he saw a few heads turn shortly after. Renjun had been silent the majority of the lunch period, carefully watching Mark and Jeno’s shenanigans like a tennis match and only adding comments when necessary. Like now.

 

“Keep your voice down, are you crazy?” Mark’s paranoia skyrockets, but Renjun stares at him unimpressed, pushing his hand off his mouth. Mark continues anyway. “What if he goes to this school?”

 

“Well, have you seen him around before?” Renjun slowly asks him, balancing the atmosphere out. That’s why Mark loves Renjun so much. Always full of patience. But, when he shakes his head no, and Renjun pinches the bridge of his nose in faux irritation, Mark takes back his mental compliments. “Mark, do you even know this boy’s name?”

 

Offended that his friend would assume so low of him (despite learning Donghyuck’s name only three days prior on _accident,_ glancing at his school binder which has a conveniently placed identification label printed on it), Mark pouts and nods. “It’s Donghyuck. Lee Donghyuck.”

 

“Why does that name sound familiar?” Jeno suddenly pipes up, the other two now staring at him in anticipation (more so Mark than Renjun). Jeno’s face brightens after moments of consideration, a lightbulb figuratively flicking on above his head. “Oh! He’s in my English class. He’s really quiet, though. Sometimes I forget he’s there.”

 

Mark reclines back in his seat, absorbing this new piece of information about his coffee-loving attraction with a faint of a smile plastered on his face. It’s not much, but it’s something, and he’ll take anything he can get without having to confront the actual boy himself.

 

“So he’s a year below me.” He mumbles more to himself than to Jeno. He leans forward again, more than intrigued to learn more. “Do you know anything else about him?” Unfortunately, Jeno shakes his head, and Mark’s eagerness dissipates as quickly as it had come.

 

“Why don’t you just talk to him? He’s _your_ crush after all.” Mark rolls his eyes at Jeno’s unnecessary remark, not missing the smirk curling at his lips, either. Does he have no faith in his friend? He’s tried, he’s tried hard actually, but the words never come out correctly, leaving him a spluttering mess and sticking to the usual “One caramel macchiato” line. So, Mark just stopped trying, always returning behind the counter in defeat and settling for yet another reverie filled with caffeine and sun kissed skin. That doesn’t mean Mark can’t get defensive, though.

 

“We’ve _been_ talking.. kind of. I’m just an awkward mess around him, you know?” He sighs once more and Mark catches a glimpse at Jeno’s devilishly playful facade faltering, slight sympathy on his face now. This gives Mark the confidence to elaborate. “It’s frustrating; I don’t know how to start a real conversation with him without sweating and feeling nervous. I don’t want to fuck things up with him so soon. But, he’s just, like, he’s so beautiful. Everything about him is amazing, even the parts of him I don’t know yet.”

 

Mark doesn’t notice his mini ramble until he raises his head to see his friends staring at him in admiration, soft smiles hanging. Heat rises to his cheeks once he realizes they were quietly listening to his rant, and he hides his face in his hands in embarrassment.

 

“Aww, Mark Lee’s really in love,” Mark hears Jeno say, and he doesn’t hesitate to kick his shin underneath the table, more than pleased with the hiss of pain he lets out and Renjun’s laughter afterwards. Just like that, the moment is ruined. Not a day goes by where he doesn’t question his friendship with these two.

 

 

—

 

 

A gradual spur of confidence finally bubbles over the surface of Mark’s heart one day (no thanks to Jeno and Renjun) and he casually slides into table twelve’s booth, sat right in front of Donghyuck’s preoccupied self. The latter isn’t aware of Mark’s presence for a handful of minutes. Or so Mark thinks, because the heavy silence of the air between the two is broken by Donghyuck himself, Mark being too _Mark_ to stir up a conversation; all of the impulsive bravery he had walking up to the booth dissolved almost instantaneously when realization struck him hard. _I’m sitting in front of Donghyuck. Fucking_ ** _Lee_** **_Donghyuck_** _. What the fuck._

 

“No coffee for me today?”

 

Seconds pass before the question even registers in Mark’s head. It’s not his fault — Donghyuck hadn’t paid him any attention, not even a lift of his head to acknowledge his presence at the table. Mark misses the playful glint in Donghyuck’s eyes afterwards, though; his heart is pounding too loud in his ears to notice.

 

“I-I didn’t know you ordered anything.. I’m sorry. I’ll be right back. The usual, right?” Mark rushes out, already inching out of the booth to deliver the boy’s probably cold caramel macchiato in haste. He inwardly curses himself for being so forgetful. He swears his memory has never been _this_ bad; Donghyuck’s mere existence always sends Mark’s brain in a haywired frenzy. Close proximity like this doesn’t do well for his cognitive skills.

 

But, Mark’s hand resting on the table’s surface as he hurries off his seat is suddenly blanketed with the warmth of another, and he glances down to see _Donghyuck’s hand on mine holy shit._ Mark barely stops himself from gaping, satisfied with a wide eyed stare at the smiling boy across from him. The teasing sparkle is now replaced with a look of delicacy.

 

“Mark, it was a joke. Don’t worry, I didn’t order anything.” Donghyuck gently assures, palm still lounging on Mark’s increasingly sweaty one. Mark’s heart momentarily drops before jumping back in regular speed.

 

“Oh.” Mark blushes and quickly sits back down. _Obviously he was joking, dumbass._ “Sorry.”

 

Donghyuck shakes his head. “Don’t be.” A smile reaches his cheeks, carrying a different feeling opposed to the gentle one he usually sports his way. This one is much friendlier. Mark smiles back.

 

Silence finds its way to settle between the two boys once more, the air not quite as heavy as before but just as suffocating to Mark because _Donghyuck’s hand is burning a hole in his._ (Un)fortunately, within moments, the natural warmth of the boy’s palm is gone, and Mark feels cold already. Maybe someone turned the air conditioner on.

 

Donghyuck’s eyes aren’t on Mark anymore, either. His attention is back on the book he was reading before Mark came along and disturbed him (He’s actually more than pleased to be granted a momentary distraction from the boring novel, especially if that distraction is Mark. But Mark doesn’t need to know that.).

 

“So, uh,” Mark begins, suddenly too engrossed with the cuticles of his fingernails to look at Donghyuck. He takes a short glance anyway, and he wishes he didn’t; falling under Donghyuck’s expecting gaze with eyes darker than caramel is _oh so_ intimidating. Mark quickly looks down at his fingers again, picking at a hangnail. “You look busy, I shouldn’t be bothering you—”

 

“It’s okay. I was just reading.” Donghyuck interrupts Mark — in the most polite way possible — and shuts his book closed, giving the server his undivided attention. He smiles once more, the amiable aura surfacing for a second time. God help Mark tonight; that smile will be yet another fragment of his fantasy he’ll see during his slumber, those cupid bow lips imprinted on the stretch of his brain. “What’s up?”

 

“This is gonna sound stupid, but,” Mark’s throat feels like it’s closing up. He hadn’t planned this out, whatsoever. He hoped his confidence would take him far, but here he is, sifting through the panicking mess of his brain to search for what to say to this boy. It doesn’t help that Donghyuck’s stare is paralyzing. Mark eventually finds a good enough icebreaker question, and almost stutters out, “What’s your favorite color?”

 

“My favorite color?” Donghyuck repeats, and Mark instantly starts worrying, praying he hadn’t said anything dumb. _Really, Mark? Who the fuck asks someone what their favorite color is these days? What are you, five?_ “Black.”

 

Mark nearly misses Donghyuck’s response in the midst of his internal berating. He nods in genuine interest.

 

“Wow,” he deadpans, as if the other boy had just revealed a secret on a larger scale than what shade on the rainbow he likes best. “I never would have guessed.”

 

“Is that sarcasm?” Donghyuck bites back, _clearly_ pulling at Mark’s leg (tagging a small smirk along for good measure), but Mark, as always, takes the pull to heart. Red coats his cheeks for the nth time that day.

 

“No, no! I’m truly surprised. You just seem really.. I dunno. Colorful?” Mark attempts to explain. Donghyuck slightly cocks his head in confusion _(like a fucking puppy, oh my God)_ _,_ hoping that Mark elaborates more to help him understand. He does just that. “You wear bright colors a lot, so I assumed you’d say, like, neon green or something.”

 

An airy giggle falls from Donghyuck’s lips. “I would prefer a color like neon green if it wasn’t ugly.” Then he shrugs, the smile returning. “Black’s just nice, but I like pastel colors too, if that lines up with your psychoanalysis correctly.”

 

“Ah,” Mark blushes _again —_ scary how one boy can have this much of an effect on him — but smiles back, admiring Donghyuck’s humor. The younger boy definitely has a sharp tongue, quick to tease. If Mark can’t bring himself to confess, maybe a friendship would suffice. “Mine’s blue, if you couldn’t tell.” He gestures down to his navy blue tee under his black apron, sleeves rolled up to his elbows.

 

“It suits you.” Donghyuck’s the one to blush this time.

 

 

—

 

 

Turns out that the two boys discussed the entire universe and then some at table twelve; by the time they left each other, it was far past the end of Mark’s shift. Luckily, it had been a slow day. Mark’s coworker even filled in for him and his server duties, slapping Mark on the back with a knowing look when he entered the employees only backroom to remove his café apron and grab his belongings. Mark had shook him off, refusing to answer any questions Johnny had about “the pretty boy at table twelve.”

 

Mark took pride in his ability to finally _speak_ to Donghyuck and discover useful things about the boy — not that his favorite color isn’t important. He picks up on the tiny habits he has as well, like picking at a loose thread on his sweater’s sleeve, or chewing at his bottom lip when he’s in deep thought. He even mentioned their unspoken agreement on a first name basis (“How’d you know my name’s Mark?” “You have a name tag on, Mr. Lee.” “Oh, right.”). He was comfortable with him, now. Or, as comfortable around your crush as you can be. Mark slept well that night, dreams occupied with heart shaped smiles.

 

Currently, however, Mark is in another certainly unsolvable situation.

 

Donghyuck hasn’t been to the café within the past week.

 

Mark wants to slap himself for the drop of worry that floods his veins whenever his eyes shoot to the empty booth of table twelve, void of the boy’s coffee cup stains — in which Mark ever so kindly reminds him to use the coaster provided at each table — and disorganized sheets of unfinished assignments due the following school day.

 

He remembers how impatient he had been the day after their long but seemingly brief conversation, eager to talk and learn more about the boy later that evening after his shift. Maybe Donghyuck was finally getting tired of Mark. Surely he’s the cause for his absence. Even if he _wasn’t_ the reason, he wishes he had secured the younger’s phone number before their departure, so he can at least contact him rather than be cursed with his ever so overthinking mind.

 

Mark’s usually upbeat and welcoming character is missing today, all thanks to Donghyuck, or rather, thanks to the lack of him. He sits behind the counter with his cheek resting on his palm, patiently awaiting the next order to be ready to be served. Surveying the café, Mark scours each face to make sure Donghyuck isn’t sitting at a different table. But, he knows he wouldn’t do that. The boy likes staring out the window and watching the weather or the people strolling by as he finishes his homework, as he had told Mark a week ago, and table twelve helps him do just that.

 

Mark sighs and heads to the backroom for water, suddenly parched after thinking about the boy for too long. In the middle of his sip, Mark hears the door chime jingle twice, indicating two customers either entering or exiting the café. He pays no mind to it; he couldn’t care less about who comes and goes anymore.

 

Mark takes his sweet time returning to the counter. His eyes immediately land on table twelve for another half an hour long staredown with the deserted space, as if his glare would materialize the younger boy out of thin air.

 

But, he’s there. And he’s not alone.

 

Mark doesn’t know if he should be elated to see Donghyuck or disappointed to see him with someone else. Someone who’s sitting _far too close_ and smiling _far too wide_ at the boy. He knows he’s acting stupid; him and Donghyuck are barely friends for him to feel territorial over the younger simply talking to a boy who’s not him. But, he can’t help the dull feeling in his chest when he sees Donghyuck bent over in heaps of laughter, the other boy pleased at the joke he most likely told. Mark couldn’t elicit anything more than a giggle from him, not that he’s complaining.

 

He tries to rip his eyes away from the pair, refocusing on the multiple orders now at the counter, piping hot and waiting to be served. Mark places each order at its respective table, slipping in an apology to every customer who was expecting their coffee several minutes ago. During the process, a glance is stolen at Donghyuck and his “friend,” whatever they may be, Donghyuck seemingly always in fits of chuckles with each pass by table twelve.

 

More than thirty minutes crawl on the edge of time. Every giggle from Donghyuck multiplies the duration in Mark’s mind by three, so really, they’ve been here for nearly two hours without ordering anything. Technically, loitering is forbidden here. He’s rarely ever forced to apply this rule — only when a rowdy bunch of middle schoolers interfere with the placid ambience of the café. And maybe he’s being petty, but at this point, all Mark wants to do is wipe that goddamn smirk off that boy’s face _right now._

 

Without a second’s delay, the server briskly walks over to the unsuspecting duo. With each step closer, Mark can really see just what Donghyuck’s.. whoever, looks like. Of course, he’s pretty. Gorgeous, even. If he wasn’t so smitten over Donghyuck, Mark’s heart would probably be hammering in his chest right now just from the sight of the other boy. He heaves a breath, and the two boys _still_ have not acknowledged his presence, too into each other to notice the fuming worker above them. Mark clears his throat before recycling an old automated line he’d learned from his mother’s past experiences with unruly customers.

 

“All café tables and booths are reserved for customers only. Loitering is prohibited. Either order something, or leave.”

 

Donghyuck and his friend turn their heads towards the voice, Donghyuck bug eyed and an immediate apologetic look written across his face, and Mark almost regrets the words that leave his mouth just from that one look. The boy frowns, his bottom lip jutting out just a tad bit (but Mark notices) and he blushes, his gaze now directed at the table.

 

“Oh, um, I’m sorry,” Donghyuck sits up properly, his plush cheeks painted with a burning blush; it’s like Mark had flicked a switch that flipped his entire mood sideways. Downcast, the boy mumbles again, “I’ll have the usual.”

 

Now, all Mark wants to do is get on his knees and recite numerous apologies to the boy (not so much his friend, though), but he’s gone too far with the “firm, but respectful server” facade, so he continues to play along. He makes sure to remove all human emotions from his face — although it’s hard with Donghyuck pouting _like that_ — before continuing and redirecting his scrutinizing gaze onto the other boy in the booth.

 

“And for you, sir?” Mark asks, as if the boy doesn’t look his age or even younger. Mark hadn’t even realized the nameless boy was still smiling, _at him,_ like he knows something he doesn’t _._ An eyebrow quirks up in question on Mark’s face.

 

“I won’t be ordering anything. I was just leaving.” The boy says, already shifting out of the booth; his voice is just as pretty as his face (not Donghyuck-pretty, but pretty nonetheless). Donghyuck makes room for his friend to exit, and as Mark steps aside to do the same, the boy shoots him another suspicious glance and a smirk before waving the two off. When Mark looks at Donghyuck again, the latter just shrugs, still frowning with a new blush rising. Mark sighs and heads back to the counter to report a caramel macchiato with extra whipped cream to the barista, shoulders heavy with guilt.

 

 

—

 

 

It takes time — two days, to be precise — before Mark feels comfortable enough to share his predicament with the two people who are willing to listen to his problems. He thanks the heavens for the weekend and his kind mother for freeing him from working any shift today. One of the very few perks of having your mother as your boss.

 

Saturday morning arrives and the first thing Mark does is message the groupchat he’s in “code blue, it is  _not_ a drill.” He had sent the message a bit too early in the morning (as his friends prefer to sleep in on the weekends, like every other normal teenager), so it’s ten a.m. when Renjun finally responds, letting Mark know he’s on his way ASAP. Jeno awakes an hour later and _insists_ on bringing snacks to help cheer his friend up, when in actuality they’re for his own benefit and appetite. Mark allows him anyways, fully aware he won’t be eating any of the “comfort food” but grateful his friends are coming regardless.

 

Mark groans and flops on his mattress like he’s dead weight, sinking into the memory foam. He listens to the two stooges bicker below him over which Dorito flavor is better, and the eldest begins to reconsider his decision to let these two into his house this early (it’s actually one p.m. now).

 

“Are you guys going to help me or sit around and argue over potato chips?”

 

Jeno halts his and Renjun’s trivial discussion at the sound of the older’s whining, shifting his attention towards the grieving boy laying face down on the bed. He almost doesn’t hear him at first. He stares at Mark’s corpse-like body with furrowed eyebrows. “To be fair, you didn’t exactly tell us what’s going on.”

 

“It’s Donghyuck, right?” Renjun adds. Mark stays silent, suddenly too flustered to respond upon hearing the culprit’s name up in the air. “Good God, did you scare the poor kid off?”

 

“Fuck off,” Mark mumbles into his pillow. He turns and lays on his side so he can be heard more clearly. “It’s not even _that_ bad.. I just feel like an asshole.”

 

“Well, that’s because you are one.” Mark opens his mouth to protest but Jeno cuts him off. “Anyways, what did you do?”

 

Mark sighs again, watching his friends stare back at him expectantly. “I was being petty. He hasn’t been to the café in a week, and the day he comes back, he’s with some guy.” He pauses, heat stinging his cheeks. It sounds stupid hearing himself say this out loud. “They were, like, being all touchy with each other. And the guy, he was making Donghyuck laugh so _loud_. They hadn’t ordered anything either, so I told them they’re loitering and they have to order something or leave. Donghyuck’s face just dropped and I felt like a total dick.”

 

“Do you know who the guy was?” Jeno asks seconds after Mark finishes. The latter sits up on his forearms to get a better look at the younger, not expecting a question like that.

 

“No? Does it matter?”

 

“I was just curious,” Jeno shrugs and dips his hand into the family size bag of cheetos. “Maybe I know them.”

 

“How would that help my issue?” Mark’s growing impatient. He invited these two over for advice, and they have yet to give him any. He should have known better.

 

“I dunno. It might help something, though.” Jeno shrugs again; he sounds far too nonchalant in Mark’s desperate time of need. “Describe him to me.”

 

Mark squeezes the bridge of his nose and exhales. “Jeno—”

 

“Pleaseee,” Jeno inches forward, dramatically kneeling in front of the bed with his hands clasped against his chest. He pouts and recreates the puppy dog look he knows Mark can’t say no to.

 

“Alright, alright. Um,” Mark sits up completely and hesitates, willing himself to envision the boy who stole Donghyuck’s laughter and most likely his heart. He grimaces. “He had brown hair?” Jeno motions with his hand for more information, urging Mark to continue. “He, uh, had a nice smile, too. He’s as tall as me? Maybe a bit taller—”

 

Jeno gapes at this, causing Mark to freeze in his description. His eyes narrow at the stupefied boy. Renjun watches the interaction in reserved silence.

 

“What?”

 

“Mark, that’s Jaemin. _Na_ Jaemin.” Jeno announces this in a tone that tells Mark he was supposed to be aware of this. But, Mark doesn’t even notice, for he’s still relishing in the fact that Jeno knew who he was talking about with his beyond vague description. Shocked isn’t the word.

 

“Wait, how did you—” Then, realization finally sets in. “Hang on, which Jaemin?”

 

Renjun uses this as the perfect opportunity to butt into the conversation. “You know. Na _the junior Lee Jeno happens to be head over heels absolutely in love with for the past 2 years_ Jaemin. _That_ Jaemin.”

 

Jeno scoffs in disbelief, Mark mimicking him shortly after. “What are the odds that our crushes are friends with each other? It truly is a small world!” The youngest oozes with sarcasm. Mark just rolls his eyes, slumping back onto the mattress.

 

“They seem to be closer than just ‘friends’ to me.” He mutters, engaging in a staring contest with the blank ceiling above. The room falls silent for a few moments, which prompts Mark to glance at his friends on the floor; they gawk at him, amazed, and Mark instantly knows he interpreted the entire relationship between Donghyuck and Jaemin incorrectly. _Fuck._

 

“Hyung, I love you, but you truly are dense sometimes.” Projectile crumbs drop from Jeno’s mouth as he speaks while chewing. He absentmindedly wipes his dirty hand on his sweats. “Jaemin’s single. I would have known if he was dating someone, _especially_ if that someone was Donghyuck.”

 

“Besides, from the look of things, it seems like Donghyuck’s pining hard over you just as much as you are. You're probably just too busy with your own pining to notice.” Renjun states matter-of-factly, his sidekick agreeing with a nod of his head. Mark rolls his eyes again.

 

“Yeah, okay. Sure.” He rejects the idea as soon as the words leave Renjun’s lips. Although it’d be nice, it’s highly improbable that the younger boy would like him back. Renjun’s never even met Donghyuck anyways, how would he know?

 

“Well, shoot your chance. You can’t give up before you even try. What’s the worst that can happen?” Renjun counters, lazily sliding his hand into the cheetos bag and earning a disapproving glare from Jeno, who had intentions on finishing the bag by himself.

 

_He can reject me and denounce my existence, then I’d die from embarrassment and be ostracized forever. And he’d never come back to the café again._

 

Mark shrugs. “I guess you’re right.”

 

“I know I’m right.” Mark dunks his hand into the cheetos bag and chucks a handful at Renjun’s know-it-all head.

 

 

—

 

 

Mark utilizes the remainder of the weekend to prepare for confronting Donghyuck. When Monday looms over his head, Mark can’t help but fear what the boy will say to him. Jeno and Renjun take note of their friend’s internal fretting and shower him with (albeit, repetitive) pep talks. You can only hear “You’ll be fine. Just be yourself.” so many times before it starts going through one ear and out the other.

 

The server, already released from school and clocked in to begin his shift, ties his apron on with great difficulty and trembling fingers. Mark wouldn’t be so scared if he was about to speak to anyone else. It’s just _Donghyuck._ Him and his stupidly gorgeous eyes and irritatingly adorable nose and bothersome lips that look _disgustingly_ cute in a pout.

 

Mark runs a hand over his face and draws out a lengthy exhale. _I really am deep into this._

 

He strolls out of the backroom as casually as he can, and with his peripheral vision, he’s instantly aware of table twelve’s occupancy today. Mark’s stomach twists in tight knots. On the barista counter, his eyes catch a steaming hot cup of coffee placed beside an all too familiar looking note: _1 caramel macchiato w/ whipped cream, table 12._

 

With one final self-inducement before his social death, Mark hastily yet carefully lifts Donghyuck’s order into his hand and his legs whisk his body to table twelve before his brain has any second thoughts to turn back around. Donghyuck pauses his (what Mark presumes to be Math) homework as soon as Mark comes over, the faintest hint of a smile lingering on his lips when he looks up at him.

 

“Hey,” Donghyuck takes the initiative to be the first of them to greet the other, his soft, melodic voice sounding as delicate as ever in the server’s ears. Mark, for whatever reason, blushes.

 

“Hi.” he mumbles bashfully, gently setting the boy’s order down on the coaster and away from his homework in the case of any spills. Donghyuck’s smile brightens at the sight, and Mark barely hears the _thank you_ that slips from his lips, but he does.

 

Mark can slice the solid air with a butter knife. He inwardly shutters at the atmosphere and drops his weight into the seat opposite Donghyuck, taking a good look at the boy; his round, charcoal eyes blink in expectation at him, eyelashes fluttering. His lips are slightly open, revealing his upper front teeth — Mark wishes he’d see the entire row of them in a grand smile. His cheeks are alight with a natural low (as is the rest of his body; Donghyuck has an inherent aura of bright warmth surrounding him) and a tone of red beneath the surface, ready to spread and overtake his skin color. Donghyuck intimidates Mark, but his features look far too soft to be feared.

 

Mark’s lips thin out into a straight line and he leans forward, ready to break the rather uncomfortable silence.

 

“So—”

 

“Can I—”

  
  
The two comically begin at the same time, their voices intermingling and words jumbling together. Donghyuck finally, _finally_ lets out a genuine laugh (and Mark wishes he could keep that sound in a bottle so he can listen to it forever. Is that weird?). “You first.”

 

Mark scratches his nape, avoiding eye contact with Donghyuck now. He practiced his planned out apology several times to prevent another awkward moment in his speech. When someone like Mark meets someone like Donghyuck, preparation is more than important. “I’d just like to apologize for being rude last week. It probably wasn’t that big of a deal anyways but I felt like a complete asswipe and I was out of line so, um, yeah. I’m sorry.”

 

The server gathers enough bravery to take a glimpse at the younger boy once moments pass without a sound. He sees Donghyuck stare back at him in awe, before the red conquers his cheeks and the small smile from earlier returns. He subconsciously plays with the pencil in his hand.

 

“I forgive you.” Donghyuck practically whispers, and Mark releases a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding in the first place. He smiles, too.

 

“Good, good,” The tension dissipates from the surrounding air, and yet, Mark’s hard deliberation in his head creates a temporary atmosphere of mild discomfort between the two. Donghyuck senses this; he cocks his head at the older in confusion, abandoning the pencil and sticking to twiddling with his sleeve.

 

“Also, um...” Mark begins again, and his throat constricts. _Don’t fuck up now, Mark Lee. You can see the finish line._ “I was wondering if.. you would like to hang out sometime? Any time after my shift here?”

  
  
Donghyuck blinks once. “You mean as a date?”

  
  
Mark’s eyes widen in bewilderment, taken aback by the younger’s question. He stutters out an explanation. “I mean i-if that’s how you want to look at it. It can be a date, or just a friendly hang out get together kind of thing, since, you know, we’ve never hung out outside of the café before. I-I don’t mind—”

 

“Mark!” Donghyuck half giggles half whines, because Mark’s rambling is _too cute._ Mark closes his mouth and glances up at the boy sat across from him, to only be met with nothing but a widespread grin. “I’d love to.”

 

Mark mirrors his smile with relief.

 

 

—

 

 

Cool autumn wind brushes against the boys’ skin, seeping through their clothes and deep into their bones. Aware of the chilly weather the meteorologist announced earlier today, the pair are clothed with thick coats and hoodies underneath. The oldest of the two absently sways his body on the dilapidated playground’s swing that he’s sure is meant for children half his size. He doesn’t mind the discomfort though, not after hearing the youngest’s divine laughter at the sight of the eighteen year old attempting to fit into the children’s swing. As compensation, the younger casually slid into the other’s lap with a quick peck on the lips, giggling once more at the bright red shade splashed on his cheeks. Two months into their relationship, and Mark still can’t get used to the boy’s nonchalant attitude about quite intimate displays of affection.

 

“I was so scared to talk to you when I first saw you.” Mark randomly confesses, sticking his foot in the grass to stop the swing’s movement.

 

“Shit, am I _that_ pretty?” Mark lightly taps Donghyuck’s shoulder, lightweight chuckles leaving both sets of lungs. They level off their fits of giggles before Donghyuck starts again, the younger boy playing with a piece of lint on Mark’s shirt without any thought. “But, same.”

 

Mark’s eyes bulge out his head at this. For the first time, someone’s intimidated by _him?_ Mark Lee? Mark barely stops himself from pinching his arm to make sure he isn’t dreaming.

 

“You seemed so casual talking to me, though.” he breathes, exasperated in his bewilderment.

 

“I was dying inside.” Donghyuck deadpans, eliciting a hearty laugh from the older. Slowly, Mark’s large grin fades and a comfortable smile replaces it. He stares straight up at the boy perched on his lap.

 

“I made the right decision.”

 

“What decision?” Donghyuck’s head tilts in the same confused, puppy-esque expression that Mark fell in love with months ago. His smile widens.

 

“To talk to you that day.” he elaborates. Donghyuck’s breath hitches, him being the one caught off guard for once. Mark’s smile grows into a smug smirk, satisfied with the effect he has on the boy.

 

“Oh.” the younger says full stop. A blush stains _his_ cheeks this time. Smirk still stamped on his face, Mark suddenly feels a little confident and tightens his arms around Donghyuck’s waist, tugging the boy closer to his body and leaning in. The swing beneath them struggles to hold their combined weight, the chains creepily creaking to tell the two boys that if they don’t get up soon, their new seat would be the cold, wet grass. They pay no attention to their situation, of course. They’re too consumed with themselves (and each other’s lips) to notice what’s going on.

 

Donghyuck shifts _the tiniest bit_ in Mark’s lap to get more comfortable when the swing finally gives way. A high pitched squeal ripples through the air, but Donghyuck doesn’t dare to escape their embrace, even when they land on the ground in a twisted mess of limbs and giggles. They sound drunk, giggling at nothing. God knows why they make no effort to move from their position, either; the troublesome, uneven grass blades prick at their skin and dampen their clothes. Donghyuck throws meaningless insults at the boy underneath him between his chuckles, blaming his “uncoordinated mass of skin and bones he calls a body” on the swing’s current damaged state, but Mark knows it’s his way of saying _“I wouldn’t trade you for the world.”_

 

They lay there together and ignore time, breaths laced with caffeinated caramel.

 

**Author's Note:**

> the ending seems so rushed ;-; but i hope you enjoyed! again, please leave comments, any and all feedback is greatly appreciated :D


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